Chapter XIV - Ben Shows Himself a Hero

A fire in a country village, particularly where the building is a
prominent one, is sure to attract a large part of the resident
population. Men, women, and children, as well as the hook and ladder
company, hurried to the scene of conflagration. Everybody felt a
personal interest in Crawford’s. It was the great emporium which
provided all the families in the village with articles of prime and
secondary necessity. If Paris can be called France, then Crawford’s
might be called Pentonville.

“You don’t mean to say you’re goin’ to the fire, father?” asked his
widowed daughter in surprise, for the captain had bowed beneath the
weight of eighty-six winters, and rarely left the domestic hearth.

“Do you think I’d stay at home when Crawford’s was a-burning?"
returned the captain.

“But remember, father, you ain’t so young as you used to be. You
might catch your death of cold.”

“Shouldn’t think you would, at your time of life!” retorted her
father, chuckling.

So the old man emerged into the street, and hurried as fast as his
unsteady limbs would allow, to the fire.

“How did it catch?” the reader will naturally ask.

The young man who was the only other salesman besides Ben and the
proprietor, had gone down cellar smoking a cigar. In one corner was a
heap of shavings and loose papers. A spark from his cigar must have
fallen there. Had he noticed it, with prompt measures the incipient
fire might have been extinguished. But he went up stairs with the
kerosene, which he had drawn for old Mrs. Watts, leaving behind him
the seeds of destruction. Soon the flames, arising, caught the wooden
flooring of the upper store. The smell of the smoke notified Crawford
and his clerks of the impending disaster. When the door communicating
with the basement was opened, a stifling smoke issued forth and the
crackling of the fire was heard.

“Run, Ben; give the alarm!” called Mr. Crawford, pale with dismay and
apprehension. It was no time then to inquire how the fire caught.
There was only time to save as much of the stock as possible, since it
was clear that the fire had gained too great a headway to be put out.

Ben lost no time, and in less than ten minutes the engine, which,
fortunately, was housed only ten rods away, was on the ground. Though
it was impossible to save the store, the fire might be prevented from
spreading. A band of earnest workers aided Crawford in saving his
stock. A large part, of course, must be sacrificed; but, perhaps, a
quarter was saved.

All at once a terrified whisper spread from one to another:

“Mrs. Morton’s children! Where are they? They must be in the third
story.”

A poor woman, Mrs. Morton, had been allowed, with her two children, to
enjoy, temporarily, two rooms in the third story. She had gone to a
farmer’s two miles away to do some work, and her children, seven and
nine years of age, had remained at home. They seemed doomed to
certain death.

But, even as the inquiry went from lip to lip, the children appeared.
They had clambered out of a third story window upon the sloping roof
of the rear ell, and, pale and dismayed, stood in sight of the shocked
and terrified crowd, shrieking for help!

“A ladder! A ladder!” exclaimed half a dozen.

But there was no ladder at hand–none nearer than Mr. Parmenter’s,
five minutes’ walk away. While a messenger was getting it the fate of
the children would be decided.

“Tell ’em to jump!” exclaimed Silas Carver.

“They’d break their necks, you fool!” returned his wife.

“Better do that than be burned up!” said the old man.

No one knew what to do–no one but Ben Barclay.

He seized a coil of rope, and with a speed which surprised even
himself, climbed up a tall oak tree, whose branches overshadowed the
roof of the ell part. In less than a minute he found himself on a
limb just over the children. To the end of the rope was fastened a
strong iron hook.

Undismayed by his own danger, Ben threw his rope, though he nearly
lost his footing while he was doing it, and with an aim so precise
that the hook caught in the smaller girl’s dress.

“Hold on to the rope, Jennie, if you can!” he shouted.

The girl obeyed him instinctively.

Drawing the cord hand over hand, the little girl swung clear, and was
lowered into the arms of Ebenezer Strong, who detached the hook.

“Save the other, Ben!” shouted a dozen.

Ben needed no spur to further effort.

Again he threw the hook, and this time the older girl, comprehending
what was required, caught the rope and swung off the roof, scarcely in
time, for her clothing had caught fire. But when she reached the
ground ready hands extinguished it and the crowd of anxious spectators
breathed more freely, as Ben, throwing down the rope, rapidly
descended the tree and stood once more in safety, having saved two
lives.

Just then it was that the poor mother, almost frantic with fear,
arrived on the ground.

“Where are my darlings? Who will save them?” she exclaimed, full of
anguish, yet not comprehending that they were out of peril.

“They are safe, and here is the brave boy who saved their lives,” said
Ebenezer Strong.

“God bless you, Ben Barclay!” exclaimed the poor mother. “You have
saved my life as well as theirs, for I should have died if they had
burned.”

Ben scarcely heard her, for one and another came up to shake his hand
and congratulate him upon his brave deed. Our young hero was
generally self-possessed, but he hardly knew how to act when he found
himself an object of popular ovation.

“Somebody else would have done it if I hadn’t,” he said modestly.

“You are the only one who had his wits about him,” said Seth Jones.
“No one thought of the rope till you climbed the tree. We were all
looking for a ladder and there was none to be had nearer than Mr.
Parmenter’s.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of it myself if I hadn’t read in a daily
paper of something like it,” said Ben.

“Ben,” said Mr. Crawford, “I’d give a thousand dollars to have done
what you did. You have shown yourself a hero.”

“Oh, Ben, how frightened I was when I saw you on the branch just over
the burning building,” said a well-known voice.

Turning, Ben saw it was his mother who spoke.

“Well, it’s all right now, mother,” he said, smiling. “You are not
sorry I did it?”

“Sorry! I am proud of you.”

“I am not proud of my hands,” said Ben. “Look at them.”

They were chafed and bleeding, having been lacerated by his rapid
descent from the tree.

“Come home, Ben, and let me put some salve on them. How they must
pain you!”

“Wait till the fire is all over, mother.”

The gallant firemen did all they could, but the store was doomed.
They could only prevent it from extending. In half an hour the engine
was taken back, and Ben went home with his mother.

“It’s been rather an exciting evening, mother,” said Ben. “I rather
think I shall have to find a new place.”